


A Way to Hold On

by MarieRosabella166



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Funeral, Gen, Harley Centric, Mutual Grief, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), bring back irondad, endgame ripped my heart out, have two boys been sad, two idiots deal with grief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-05-30 19:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieRosabella166/pseuds/MarieRosabella166
Summary: "Do I know you?"“Uh. Shit, fuck—sorry!” Oh. My. God. Harley, you suck. “No, no, you don’t know me. And you shouldn’t, don’t worry. I just—sorry, wow, this is embarrassing. I, uh. Shit, man, I kinda thought, for some reason, that you were Spiderman?”The other teen blinked, mouth parted slightly. And, yeah, Harley figured he’d look like that if an idiot snuck up on him in the woods too.“I’m really sorry to bother you! I promise, dude, I swear I'm not just some estranged fan that followed you into the woods!" Put your foot in your mouth and suffocate, Keener.Or, the Russo's robbed us of any and all Keener/Parker interaction and I'm a salty bitch.





	1. Chapter 1

Harley felt out of place. He wore black like everyone else, even donned a black blazer and enough hair gel to make him feel like it was picture day—he wasn’t trying to be Tony, not anymore, but he wanted to emulate him, to pay homage to the man who’d changed his life six years ago. So yes, he wore black like everyone else and told his mother that he absolutely _had_ to wear his Model UN blazer instead of his dad’s old tux, but he was not welcome amongst the rest of the funeral goers.

Who was he to them, anyway? This was a highly coveted funeral, private beyond belief—with no date released to the media. Tony had been buried two days ago, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Harley didn’t plan on going, he’d visit Tony next year, right before he started college at MIT. His mom had told him he could (he knew better than to ask to go to the funeral), she’d sat on his bed in the middle of the night, rubbing his back as he sobbed into his pillow and comforted him until he exhausted himself. He’d slept in his garage for three days after that, clutching onto his potato gun, or, if it was late enough, an old, ratty Iron Man plushie he’d gotten for Hanukkah a decade ago.

It was the day of the funeral (Harley couldn’t bring himself to watch it on TV) when his sister slid an envelope below his door. Addressed to him, from Pepper Potts-Stark, was a round-trip plane ticket from the Memphis airport to JFK. The letter invited him to the Stark’s off-the-grid residence, asking him to keep silent about the more intimate memorial and detailing his three day stay with Pepper and her daughter. In Pepper’s elegant handwriting, the letter was signed “he would have wanted you there.”

He’d shown his mother the ticket immediately, grateful that she agreed without hesitation and took only a moment to wipe the tears from his cheeks before leaving to pack for him.

It felt odd. To have his entire life shattered by the death of a half-crazed mechanic from his childhood. Tony Stark was supposed to be invincible, Iron Man was an _Avenger_ , okay? He couldn’t just die! Harley felt more shaken by this than he did five years ago when the snap happened. His family had been so lucky, so insanely lucky to have been kept together (minus a few of their chickens). Yet, with the universe straightened out and life fulfilling itself again, he felt empty. A life without emails from [TStank@starkindustries.com](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwj9pZ78vI_jAhWJTN8KHYf4C10QjRx6BAgBEAU&url=https%3A%2F%2Fweheartit.com%2Fentry%2F314076295&psig=AOvVaw2S-nodDJiL9bYMDFaf2KCZ&ust=1561924672941231) or facetimes calls with Tony and Dumme didn’t seem to be a life he could imagine. He’d never get to see the man’s prized Workshop, or take a ‘personalized tour’ of the MIT campus with Tony (Harley was pretty sure the man was just going to show him everywhere he’d had sex on campus and then make fun of his past professors, but still, it would have been a whole day with _Tony_ ).

He felt robbed. Even more so now, standing alone at the back of the crowd, hands in the pockets of his slacks and eyes blinking tears away furiously. He was happy to be here, thankful beyond imagine that Pepper had bothered to think of him. To be considered apart of Tony’s family after all these years. He hadn’t had a real chance to talk to Pepper and Morgan yet, but Happy had clapped him on the back and promised they’d catch up after the business was taken care of. He’d arrived only two hours before the procession was scheduled to begin, and it had taken him an unnecessary amount of time to muster up courage to leave him room and show his face. No one had talked to him, no one knew him. He stood next to the snacks for a half hour, nodding at the people who sent kind smile his way.

Captain Marvel (CAPTAIN MARVEL JESUS FUCK) had looked at him sympathetically as she refilled her lemonade and said, “I don’t really know anyone either.”

… He’d been a bit too star struck to say anything intelligent after that, but the women smiled at him kindly before walking back to where Nick Fury stood. 

The service was kind. Peaceful. It seemed odd, to send such a remarkable and obnoxious man to rest with the silence of his family—but Harley couldn’t have imagined anything different. Funerals are for the living, he knew, and at least he didn’t have to sit Shiva; at least Tony got to rest without all the dramatics. Harley wouldn’t really know, but he thought that the man would find the quaint gathering refreshing after everything. He knew it was all Pepper could do, all the widow would _want_ to do.

He stood silently with the others, all fifty or so of the mourners staring after the wreath as it slowly drifted away from home. Harley was surprised, a whole lot grateful, though, when he didn’t cry. He must’ve exhausted his resources over the last week, but he was glad. He didn’t want to cry in front of Tony. He didn’t want one of the last things Tony saw on this earth to be his tears. He wanted to let Tony know that he’d be okay, that he _was_ okay. He wouldn’t stop living, he wouldn’t give up on all the dreams he’d confessed to the man or all the plans Tony had made for them in the future, the one where Harley spent a summer at the compound and learned how to make Avengers-worthy tech, where Tony promised to make him a potato-gun-wielding apprentice.

Harley wanted Tony to be proud of him. To see him standing strong and remorseful at the back of his procession and know he could move on without a worry for Harley Keener.

The first to break the stillness was the Bruce Banner, who apologized profusely as he pushed through the crowd with his ginormous body (Harley had seen pictures, but _jesus_ ). When he passed Harley, the teen heard him mumble something about a Natasha as he covered his eyes. Thor had followed him, was trying to keep up and comfort the Hulk at a quiet volume, but Banner’s trek into the trees didn’t go unnoticed. Out of the corner of his eye, Harley watched Hawkeye—Clint, kiss his wife in the cheek before jogging after the other two teary Avengers.

It felt so weird. Harley sniffed, blinking back tears as more and more people began to silently break out of the trance. Such a minimal loss, to come out of the biggest fight in the universe with four out of six. Except it felt like the entire world had been ripped out from underneath everybody!

“He was supposed to be _invincible_ ,” he whispered to himself. He allowed himself one, solitary wipe of his eyes before choking them back. The Iron Man plushie buried in the bottom of his duffle would be there at three am, when Harley could cry in secret.

He didn’t know when it would be appropriate for him to break away. He didn’t have a group to fall into step with, all he could think to do right was stand and pay his respects to his hero and Tony’s family. But it was Morgan who disrupted the peace next.

Harley remembered the call he’d received, two months after their last real conversation, to a stressed and still thin looking Tony. He’d apologized to Harley. For his father. Tony, a man who’s probably the last father figure Harley would ever adopt, apologized to the fourteen-year-old, saying how he couldn’t imagine how anyone could leave a child so perfect, so small and vulnerable to the cruelty of the world. How he couldn’t imagine how Tony himself had left Harley in Tennessee, how he had been cold to him in the beginning of their friendship.

He'd heard word of Pepper’s expecting in the media. Harley had stared at him through his screen, not sure enough to do anything but blink before snarking, “you about to become a dad, old man?”

Tony had cackled, nine months’ worth of nervous energy finding escape in Harley’s dark bedroom. He’d hung up abruptly, with a soft, “thanks, kid,” before ending the call.

Harley watched as Morgan turned, shifting her gaze from the lake to cling to Pepper’s closest leg. The women flinched, a hand instinctively moving to rest on the child’s head as a heartbreaking sob rang throughout the small estate. Pepper, cheeks stained with tears of her own tore her gaze from Tony’s wreath to look back at Happy. Harley watched the small shake of her head as she turned a helpless gaze to the security guard, who understood immediately and bent down to pry Morgan’s little hands from Pepper’s leg. It took some effort, some unshed tears on Hogan’s part probably, but Morgan relented and buried her little face into Happy’s shoulder, her shrieking sobs muffled into the man’s suit.

Harley openly watched the pair navigate through the crowd on the dock, tracking the comforting hand on Morgan’s back till Happy made it to the porch and sat them both down on a bench.

He'd had been surprised to see how homey the house was. Which, admittedly, sounded redundant, but this was _Tony Stark._ From the interviews given in his penthouse or Miami estate, he had a more metallic, cold taste – more in it for the glamor than the comfort. He supposed Pepper had something to do with the change, but that didn’t stop him from being shocked by how familiar it all seemed to him. How the wooden home and stretched porch reminded him of Tennessee, how it brought back more person to the invincible Iron Man. Sure, Tony was a rich son of a bitch, so all of his furniture matched, or whatever, but it was just like Harley’s mom’s house, it had the same feel as Harley’s garage.

He wondered, as more and more people stepped out of the trance, how long it would take for him to consider Tony Stark mortal.

He couldn’t picture him in this domestic setting, couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of Tony living a normal and relaxed life of a retiree. And now he would never be able to see it for himself.

He sniffed self-consciously, looking around himself to make sure no one had seen him crying. When he felt brave enough to look up, he met the eyes of the only other person remotely close to his own age, a chestnut-haired teen that was stalking up the hill. The boy averted his gaze as quickly as he could, stare redirecting itself bashfully to the ground as he basically ran past Harley, heading for the trees. A women… a very pretty and very conflicted women (Harley couldn’t help but notice, sue him) walked slowly after him, but stopped short of following him, choosing instead to sit beside Happy, who draped an arm around her shoulder as he introduced her to Morgan.

“You’re Spiderman’s mommy!” the girl cried out, joy mixing oddly with the tears still sliding down her chubby cheeks.

The women laughed quietly, “not quite; his Aunt, I’m his Aunt May.”

“That’s basically the same thing,” Happy admonished, bouncing Morgan on his knee lightly. “Lemme tell you, oh glorious goddaughter of mine, Aunt May’s precious Spiderman is a real pain in the neck. All he does is bother me— _constantly_. Do you- May! Do you know how many people have bought your kid a churro?”

He heard May laugh, knew there must be some conversation going on, but he couldn’t eavesdrop any longer. Not with ‘Spiderman’ blaring through his head repeatedly. His gaze jerked immediately to the retreating back of fucking _apparently_ Spiderman! The guy’s shoulders were hunched, hands in his pockets and looking, well, appropriate for someone leaving a funeral but jesus christ. Harley knew Tony was acquainted with Spiderman, and Spiderman’s twitter made the two out to be best friends… or, well, it did. But _Spiderman_. Fuck. Harley didn’t know they were this close. Not funeral close. A part of him was a little bit jealous that he wasn’t the only annoying, teenage asshole Tony kept in his back pocket, but the rest of him was fascinated, and inappropriately giddy.

Tony hadn’t told him much about Spiderman, only that he was helping him out and excited to have someone he didn’t want to maim back in his social circle. But, _but_ , he had also mentioned, once and through laughter, that Harley and Spiderman were never to meet. Harley had asked for an introduction immediately, and Tony had basically suffocated he was laughing so hard. “You and Spidey can meet as soon as Roger’s asks for my hand in marriage,” Tony had promised, snickering on the other side of the screen all the while. “Wishful thinking, Tony?” Harley had sniped back, delighted to hear Pepper giggling from somewhere in the older man’s house. Tony’s glare had been less than threatening and Harley had felt like he was _there_ , like he was a part of the family, the Starks. He used to let himself dream idly of being close with Tony, closer than he was now, of going to his house some weekends during college, of being asked to babysit Morgan… and maybe even getting to meet this Spiderman guy.

And this was his chance.

Harley, well. He wasn’t good at making friends, admittedly. He didn’t really vibe with the whole ‘social skills’ thing, which is why following after Spidey was a terrible idea—but he could be scared when he caught up to the guy. Right now, he didn’t even hesitate when his legs started carrying him after the boy disappearing into the sporadic tree line. He did, briefly, consider the consequences of tailing a stranger into the woods, but whatever. He needed to do this, he didn’t know why, but Harley felt an uncontrollable urge to shake hands with Spiderman (he probably wasn’t supposed to know this guy’s identity, this might be terrifying for the superhero… but… well, it wasn’t the first time Harley had been in this position. His life was weird.), to find out why Tony was so sure they would get along so well. It must be a sign, a last gift from the boys’ mentors.

A way to hold on.

“Hey!” Harley called, a good five feet away from where Spiderman stood, his back to Harley as he looked out from the shoreline. The boy flinched, entire body jerking in surprise as he whipped around, a cuffed wrist furiously wiping at tears falling down his cheek.

“Sorry! Sorry—I’m… I’m sorry.” Harley finished lamely, his mind screaming curses at rapid fire.

Spiderman blinked at him, incredulous and teary expression surprisingly unguarded. “Do I know you?” he asked in a voice so haunted that Harley almost did a double take. The emotion was cloaked in a New York accent, enough stretched vowels to make Harley’s nose scrunch up. But this kid, he couldn’t be Spiderman. No. He was too close to Harley’s own age, too similar to the teen to be so extraordinary.

“Uh. Shit, fuck—sorry!” Oh. My. God. Harley, you suck. “No, no, you don’t know me. And you shouldn’t, don’t worry. I just—sorry, wow, this is embarrassing. I, uh. Shit, man, I kinda thought, for some reason, that you were Spiderman?”

The other teen blinked, mouth parted slightly. And, yeah, Harley figured he’d look like that if an idiot snuck up on him in the woods too.

“I’m really sorry to bother you! I promise, dude, I _swear_ I'm not just some estranged fan that followed you into the woods!" _Put your foot in your mouth and suffocate, Keener._ "Tony just, he told me, a long time ago, that I wasn’t ever allowed to meet Spiderman, it’d be too ‘dangerous’ or something,” Harley chuckled nervously. “I guess I was just a bit too hopeful…”

Still, strange New York teen did nothing but stare at him. Harley reached a nervous hand up to his neck, fiddling with the hairs at his nape and looking at every tree he could rather than the boy opposite of him.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” he said after a moment, backing away.

“You know Tony?” The teen blurted, too loud and obviously shocked from behind Harley.

Harley turned back around quickly, hand still on his neck. “Erm… yeah.”

“That was a stupid question!” the boy amended quickly, “sorry, of course you know Tony, duh, we’re literally at his house for a memorial, oh.” His gaze turned impossibly sad for a moment, before he shook his head and met Harley’s gaze again. “You obviously knew Tony, duh, ha.”

This kid was almost as awkward as Harley.

He took it as a go-ahead to continue being awkward.

“Yeah,” Harley nodded, figuring this conversation wasn’t going to get any easier if they each took turns staring at the other while they babbled. “I knew Tony, he broke into my garage once.”

Not-Spiderman’s eyes widened to be impossibly big. _He’s like a puppy dog_ , Harley thought absently. “No way! Wow, okay, wait, are you—you’re Harley, right? The kid from Tennessee?” At Harley’s surprised nod, the boy walked towards him, hand reached out already. “It’s so great to meet you, man, Tony told me about his gig as the mechanic! This is insane, wow! And, yeah, ditto, he said we weren’t ever allowed to meet! Said something like, ‘Staten Island’ll have to be completely submerged in the ocean before that happens’ and I was like, ‘Mr. Stark, it’s half way there’ and he got all red in the face and said—"

Harley jerked out of his own laugher, “wait. So, you are Spiderman?”

All mirth immediately died in the boy’s face, his hand falling dead in Harley’s grip. “What? Why would, no. Dude, that’s insane, I’m not…” The pitch of his voice was climbing with each word. “I ain’t Spiderman, that guys probably like 30 or something, you know? I would, ha! This is kinda flattering, honestly, but no. Nope. I am _not_ Spiderman, definitely not.” Harley, damn him, felt the smile crawl onto his face at the boys pathetic attempt to crawl out of this hole.

“You sure?”

“Am I sure?! Ha!” he looked like he was sweating a bit. “Man, I wish I was Spiderman! Believe me! But I’m not, I’m just plain old Peter Parker, very normal. Very non-arachnid guy right here.”

“Okay, Peter Parker,” Harley let his hand fall to his side. “Then how do you know Tony? More importantly,” he could hear the smugness in his tone, “how do you know me?”

“I’m an intern!” Peter offered hurriedly, “I work with Tony. He likes to talk.”

“So, he just goes around blabbing about past breaking-an-entering’s to high-school interns? Interesting.”

“I’m uh,” Parker was so pale, Harley felt victorious. “I’m a very promising intern.”

Harley barked out a single laugh, not believing this conversation. Nevertheless, he didn’t think he’s smiled like this in the last week. “Cut the crap, man, I heard your Aunt talking to Hogan and Morgan let it slip,” Harley was pleased to see Peter’s expression softer at the sound of the trio’s names. “I’m not gonna tell anyone, honest. I don’t even really care, ya know? I just—well, Tony talked about you sometimes, I feel like I have to know you.”

Peter’s thoughtful gaze regarded Harley for a moment, the boy uncomfortable with parker’s ability to hold eye contact so well, before the New-Yorker smiled lightly, nodding his acceptance to Harley. “I get it. Just don’t sell my identity to ET or something.”

“You have my word,” Harley promised, smiling as he cleared his throat. “Tony!” he called into the sky, happy to be laughing instead of crying. “Tony! I would like you to know that I have just cornered Spiderman in the woods and yes, you should be afraid!”

Now, Harley wasn’t superstitious. He never had been, he’d always been more preoccupied with science than fairies. But, when Peter started laughing again and the wind picked up, shuffling through the tree’s leaves and ruffling the two boy’s hair. Well. Harley knew Tony was gone, but he couldn’t help but think that the new gust of wind carried some of his mentor in it. The breeze didn’t bite at his skin like it had been the entirety of the morning. It was gentle, it calmed Harley down, made him reminiscent instead of sorrowful. He didn’t have time to talk himself out of this new, hippy-dippy reasoning though, because as soon as the wind died down and the trees quieted, Peter cleared his throat:

“If you don’t mind me asking, what else did he say about me?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full send on Harley crushing on Peter, but now starring Morgan Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS BEEN SO LONG 
> 
> I've been writing this periodically, mostly only when I'm bored in class and exceptionally sad about Iron Man
> 
> Hope it's not terrible!!! Thank you for reading !!!

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know how to skip rocks? This is an integral part of childhood!”

“Sorry, I’m not from ass-crack nowhere and have to wade around in lakes just to entertain myself!”

“And there it is! Go for the low blow, Parker. At least Tennessee has culture!”

“Country music? Really? Is that what you wanna base your argument on? New York is the center of the world and has been since—”

“First of all, get outta here with your facts!”

“Did you—” Peter laughed, “did you just quote John Mulaney at me?”

Harley grinned, splashing water at Peter with a kick of his bare foot— “take your EpiPen, take your goddamn EpiPen and _get outta my house_!”

Peter, Harley was delighted to discover, is always eager to demonstrate his ability to recite almost all of _Kid Gorgeous_. He was also pleased to inform that the ‘Robot Test’ was much funnier when done by a skinny teenager wading in a lake in a rumpled suit.

The two had been talking for hours, numbing their grief with stories of Tony. Harley had told Peter all the ‘hot gos’ (as Tony would phrase it) the man had let Harley in on, particularly how Spiderman sometimes got accidentally stuck to pieces of furniture. And walls. And people. And once a robot, to DUMME’s immense joy. They’d moved on from strictly upsetting conversation, now getting distracted by memes or funny happenstances that made their meeting seem a little less bleak. There was still an overhanging cloud of nostalgia, but Peter being absolute shit at skipping rocks (he wants to be a physics major, how the _fuck_ ) lessened the pain for the two teenagers. And, yeah, Harley was hanging out with the actual Spiderman and this is the third coolest thing to ever happen to him. But Peter was just another kid, geeky in a very welcoming way and, Harley couldn’t help but think, in another life, they’d probably be friends. The two finally left their hideout in the trees when Peter grew too hungry to function.

“I have a super metabolism, Harley! I know it might be hard for someone as average as you to comprehend my super-needs, but—”

“I will drown myself. Please stop. We’ll go get food, jesus.” Harley surrendered as they put their shoes back on.

“’I’ll drown myself,’ bitch, please, I’ll web you to that tree.”

Harley shouted in both disgust and awe at the threat, a bit skeeved out. “Dude! Does it like, you know, the web stuff? Does it come outta you?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. There’s little slits in my wrists that it excretes from.”

Harley gagged, “that’s gross! No, wait, I mean— you’re like, one of my favourite Avengers, don’t get me wrong, and that shit is dope, but also, uh, gross.”

“Keep it up and I’ll call upon every spider in a five-mile radius to come and eat you.”

“You can’t do that!” 

“I fucking can!”

“You’re bullshitting me!”

Peter crouched low to the ground, lying both palms flat to the dirt, “I will do it right now!”

“No! Nonono, dude, I believe your lies! Just—”

“Peter! There you are!”

Huh. The trees surrounding the house are a lot less isolating than they make you believe. They must’ve only been 200 feet from the rest of them, but Peter walks fast and Harley walks even faster… when trying to hide his irrational fear of spiders.

It was the women from before—Aunt May, features much more at peace now as she walked towards them, lips quirking up at their disheveled everything. “I was wondering where you’d gone. Who’s this?”

“Oh, May this is Harley, Harley— Aunt May,” he introduced the two. “He followed me into the woods, after you announced to the world that I am Spiderman.”

May’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening once before she snapped it shut.

Harley couldn’t help but snort. “It’s fine,” Peter laughed, “it’s fine. He’s Tony’s friend, we can trust him.”

“Uh-huh, well. Uh. Well, cool! I’m glad you’re not the only kid here then.”

“We’re not kids!” Peter argued, with enough petulance to power a middle school.

“Yeah! Yeah, totally! C’mon, Pepper’s been asking about you!”

They followed May back to the house, to the bench she’d been on when Harley had left to follow Peter. Happy was still there, arm’s splayed out the back of the seat, Pepper sitting at his right. Colonel Rhodes – whom Harley had only met through stories as Rhodey—sitting in a chair adjacent to the two, a leg propped up on a coffee table.

May plopped down on the left side of Hogan, smiling brightly. “Where’d Morgan go?”

“Oh, Scott stole her away,” Pepper smiled, “she’ll have Clint and him wrapped around her finger before dinner’s ready.”

“Speaking of dinner, I don’t think I can stay. I’ve got a long drive back into the city and I’d rather not try and navigate these country roads in the dark.”

Harley couldn’t help but to start humming “Country Roads” lowly into Peter’s ear. The two were standing awkwardly next to the group of adults, trying to understand where they were supposed to fit.

At Pepper’s disappointment, May started again, “yeah, I’m not the best driver. I’d rather not have a panic attack along I-90.”

“I can give you a ride back,” Happy offered.

“No, no I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’re already driving Peter back, I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

“It’s fine! I’ve got to pick up a car of my own anyway. Besides, I’m used to driving in the night, it’s kinda my job.”

“You’re staying for a few days, too?” Harley asked Peter, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, but, of course, moms.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right!” Pepper exclaimed, sitting up straighter and pointing at each of them. “You two are neighbors for the weekend, I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced you earlier.”

“It’s no problem, you were busy,” Peter said politely at the same time Happy groaned.

“They weren’t supposed to meet, Pep! That was the only rule! Now you put them _together_?!”

“I did, Happy. I know. I’m horrible. They’re right across the hall from you.”

The adults chatted idly for a while, Peter and Harley staying mostly silent as they leaned against the railing. No longer alone, their entire chemistry felt off to Harley, like they were each being too careful around the grown-ups. Peter was also a little busy tracking the hand sitting comfortably on May’s shoulder, his Aunt leaning into Happy nonchalantly. While the ache of panic was finally absent from his chest, Harley still, even with Peter next to him, felt like his invitation was a mistake. That he was underdressed. That he was overstaying and unwelcome. If it weren’t for Pepper’s kind smiles and the occasional brush of Peter’s shoulder against his, Harley would have hidden himself up in the guest room a long time ago.

“Ms. Potts,” FRIDAY chimed, “the lasagna is ready.”

“That’s my cue,” she sighed, untangling herself from Happy and Rhodey’s embrace. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, start rounding everyone up.”

Happy pulled himself up with her, “guess I better get started on the pizza rolls.” May raised her brow. “For the kids! For the kids,” he laughed. “The lasagna uses a shit ton of Red Hot; Morgan can’t handle it.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Happy,” May turned. “Peter, hun, would you want pizza rolls instead, too?”

Whatever Peter stuttered out in response was cloaked by Harley’s cackling, Spiderman’s cheeks climbing to a worrying degree of red as the adults shuffled by, May stopping to pinch Peter’s cheeks on her way out, smile full of mocking delight.

Harley dropped onto the couch, still laughing. Peter kicked his ankle, muttering as he sat down next to Harley on the now empty couch.

“So,” Rhodey sighed, sitting up and setting his beer on the table. “You’re both heading to college soon, right?”

“Yessir,” Harley replied politely, Peter nodding along, looking a bit star struck.

The Colonel nodded. “Wanna hear about the time me and Tony lit MIT’s research lab on fire?”

&

Who was left of the 37 guests shuffled into a dining room, packed to the wall with a long table and chairs, maybe 20 people squeezing into the space and finding seats. The entire far wall was a window, cloaking everyone in a brilliant golden light and showcasing the sunset as it peaked lower and lower behind the lake, water glinting in the light. Harley, in all his fucking stupidity, thought idly about how, if you saw it out of the corner of your eye, the reflection sometimes captured the same glimmer of the arc reactor.

Grief was ruining him. He used to be a teenage boy with three feelings. This emo shit is exhausting.

Thankfully, Harley was pulled along to sit next to Peter, delighted by the smaller boy’s tight grip on his sleeve. He resisted the basic instinct to gape as the Hulk sat next to him, taking up one of the seats at the head of the table—hell, it’s not like he could fit anywhere else, and smiled kindly, large eyes still brimmed red. Harley tried to be polite, begging the corners of his mouth to lift while his jaw fell to the goddamn table.

The Hulk must have been used to it, because all he did was nod and then shove an entire bread roll into his mouth. The only thing that saved Harley from further embarrassment was Peter pinching his knee under the table, the smaller boy snickering.

When all the guests were seated (it took an unnecessary amount of time and hugs and one spilled glass of wine), Pepper stood up, smoothing down the front of her dress and smiling kindly at the lot of them.

“Thank you all for staying. I’m sorry it’s a bit crowded, but this is the only place safe from the press, so. Um. Tony was really into cooking those five years. Mostly because neither of us were good at it and when I was pregnant, I threatened to murder him if he kept serving me reheated grease from Postmates.” Everyone laughed. “Being Tony, he didn’t really trust recipes and decided to start his own menu from scratch. It was a very dangerous time. But he became very fond of this lasagna, which is one of the first things he made that was actually edible. I tried to recreate it for today, but, well, I don’t think I used as much cheese as he did. Which you all will thank me later for. He called it Lasagna 27, because nothing could ever be self-explanatory.” Pepper’s smile grew sadder and sadder with each word, but Harley was just grateful (mostly on her behalf) that no tears were falling. “This was the only signature dish that would suit a crowd, I’m afraid. Because a Pilot Omelet takes three hours per dish and I couldn’t add brandy to everyone’s plate, so… yeah, enjoy!”

With that, people began to scoop lasagna onto their plates, passing dishes around and laughing because _this was just cheese, Tony, what the fuck?_ Turns out, Lasagna 27 was a smorgasbord of cheese and cayenne pepper, with some meat and pasta. Pepper began the conversation by retelling the one-time Tony made it with Vienna sausages instead of real sausage. Harley took great delight in people gagging and blaming some guy named Jarvis for not insisting Tony learn to understand good food before he died.

As the meal progressed, he tried his best to follow along with the conversation, but he’d lose the chain to a ringing in his ear. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s been with this many people in a room this size; his class was only 58 people and, he supposed it made sense, but superhero’s are very loud. They’re all yelling, hosting at least five different conversations at once and getting sidetracked every time a story tries to take the wheel of the table.

He tried to signal Peter for help, what little the other could offer him, but even if Peter looked anxious, other people at least knew his name. They’d reference him, ask him questions and laugh when they realized he was Spiderman, the boy laughing along good naturedly and indulging everyone. Harley, not for the first time that day, realized that he was alone—not even Captain Marvel had said anything to him, too busy poking Fury (who is unsurprisingly not dead) with her fork and chatting with a brown-haired women. He supposed it was just him and his ~~melted cheese~~ lasagna.

“Alright! Alright, I hate to be rude,” Hawkeye began, calling everyone at the table to a moderate hush. “But— and I ask this in the politest way possible!” His wife took a deep sign next to him as he pointed his cheese-covered knife at Harley, “Who the fuck are you?”

The table fell into a brief lull, guests either noticing Harley for the first time or trying to chew through the cheesy nightmare on their plates.

Thor lowered his sunglasses, “is that not the spider boy?”

“No, Spiderman’s the toddler with the tie,” Fury corrected.

Hawkeye jutted his fork at Harley again, “not Spidey, him!”

“Me?” He asked dumbly, pointer finger tapping his chest.

“You!” Hawkeye hollered, “Did anyone take attendance? Can anyone account for this child?”

“He’s clearly one of the many love children Anthony hid away,” Dr. Strange offered casually.

“Too soon,” Scott (Ant-man? Harley can’t keep track) chided, smiling.

“I take minor offense to that,” Pepper chimed.

“Eh, he might be to pretty to be one of Tony’s…” Clint tilted his head.

“Dad. He was sexiest man alive, like, three times.”

“Aye,” Thor was stroking his beard. “The Man of Iron was exceptionally handsome, especially per Midgardian standards.”

“What even is this conversation?” Harley asked no one.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been sweet on Stark all this time!” Happy laughed.

“I dunno, man, looks like you’re off the hook,” Peter whispered.

“I am sweet to everyone! I’m delightful! I’ll have you know; the Midgardians have taken a great liking to me an—”

“Well, pin a rose on your nose,” Hawkeye intoned dryly, swishing his wine in his glass.

“Alright, wait!” The Falcon’s hands flew into the air, “seriously, kid, who are you?”

Harley, like a deer caught in headlights, sat at a table, surrounded by Avengers ( _A. Ven. Gers. Jesus christ_ ). Peter pinched his thigh under the table, making the boy’s knew jump up and bang on the underside of the wood as he blurted out, “I’m Harley Keener.”

The table sat silently, all eyes on him as they waited for a continued explanation. Silly him, almost forgot this company was uncomfortable around anyone without a published origin story.

“I, uh, well. I’m from Tennessee… and I’m the one Tony called whenever you guys were being annoying.”

“Hey! Wait, I do know you!” Dr. Banner clapped him on the shoulder, seemingly unaware of the pained grunt that Harley swallowed. “The kid with the potato gun! I always wondered what happened to you!”

Hawkeye looked back and forth between the Hulk and Harley. “That tells me absolutely nothing.”

“Pre-Ultron, post-Wormhole,” Dr. Banner supplied. “He’s from the little grey area there.”

“Ah! That part where I was irrelevant! Yeah, I have no memory of that.”

“You truly are a charmer, Barton,” Sam mumbled, almost fondly (if Harley had to guess).

Hawkeye shrugged, “I was living on a secret farm, making a baby—”

“Clint!” His wife laughed.

“I didn’t have time to keep up with all the celebrity gossip.”

“How did you _meet_ Tony, though?” Captain America asked, kind eyes trained on Harley as the man attempted to cut a pizza roll with a butter knife.

“Oh, um, well. The abridged version is that he broke into my garage, I threatened him with my potato gun, and then I saved his life.”

Rhodey snorted from down the table while Bruce smiled knowingly, the rest of the table, minus Pepper, well. Yeah, the abridged version was a bit ridiculous.

“I’m sorry, what?” Peter asked, nose scrunched up adorably.

“No abridged versions!” Clint declared, slamming his fist on the table. “I know all these boring schmucks; I need some fresh meat. Uh, someone to spill the tea,” he said awkwardly, words unsure. “Vila! Did I say that right?”

The dark-haired girl sitting next to him shoved a pizza roll in her mouth, trying to press down a smile.

Harley stared wide eyed at a table of expectant Avengers. This story, well, it wasn’t easy to tell. No one in a million years would believe him, hell, his mother only believed him when a stack of cash got deposited into her bank account and she was asked to sign off on two individual college funds, co-signed by Tony Stark. He’d never told this story before, didn’t know where to start… didn’t know if he could continue without crying.

Under the table, a knee bumped his. To his right, Peter Parker offered him a kind and reassuring smile. Harley nudged back, his knee gently tapping the side of Peter’s, a parallel smile sliding onto his face. Peter, smile now toothy and charming and lighting up his entire pretty face, turns away from Harley, facing the rest of the table. Except. EXCEPT, his knee does not move away from Harley’s, no. Instead, he relaxes into the contact, the smooth fabric of his slacks resting against the harsh drag of denim.

Now. We don’t have time to unpack all of that.

Harley took a deep breath: “Alright… Alright, yeah, well, see. It uh…” Harley cursed quietly under his breath, moving to look up at the table again. “It all began right around Christmas, when some dumbass tried to sneak into my garage. Very, very loudly, while mumbling _Jingle Bells_ …”

Tony Stark’s brief excursion in Tennessee was apparently a big hit. And much easier to tell with Pepper and Rhodey around to interject and offer amendments to Tony’s odd behavior. Anything involving a potato gun and a Dora watch had the table rolling, Sam Wilson—the Falcon, Harley learned, was having a great time, slapping people on the shoulder and pointing at a dark-haired man on his other side, who smiled sheepishly.

With all things wrapped up and Bruce then telling an abridged version of their pseudo-therapy session on New Year’s Day (“you fell asleep on him, Banner?” “I’m not a real doctor!” “Yeah, you’re a shit friend, that’s what you are!”). Harley felt high, like he was floating. Nothing, nothing in this stupid world felt better than being liked.

“This is gorgeous, this is beautiful!” Sam announced to the table, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Because, while Stark is an intelligent dumbass, Bucky over here,” he clapped the man on the shoulder, “is just regular ol’ dumbass. Let me tell all of you about how this idiot broke into the compound’s garage every three months in 2014.”

This story was also goddamn hilarious. Turns out that a delusional Winter Soldier (THE Winter soldier, who is apparently Bucky Barnes or some shit. Harley’s new friends kept odd company) breaking into Stark Tech over and over again was a source of hilarity for the group, especially when they got to piecing together the odd happenstances of life on the compound.

“Is that why the alarms went off every other night!?” Wanda asked.

“Nat was convinced Tony just set the alarms off whenever she beat him at cup pong,” Clint laughed.

“I had to lie to him _every day_ ,” Captain America confessed. “I told him I just couldn’t get the hang of the technology, or that my fingers were too big—”

“One time!” Sam cackled, “this star-striped dumbass actually _punched through_ the garage’s keypad so he’d have an excuse for the breach.”

“This place just sounds like it had nineteen dumbasses crammed inside,” Harley teased.

“Well,” Peter put a hand over his heart, “20 now.”

“No!” There were several goads and boo’s from the table.

“I don’t wanna live with Spidey!” Bucky hit his fists on the table childishly.

“May! May, please, he tried to kill us, obtain your nephew, keep him from ruining our lives,” Sam begged.

“We had an agreement! Weekends only,” she narrowed her eyes at Peter, “and grades better stay up.”

Peter shrugged in her direction before leaning towards the other end of the table, in what Harley is sure he intended to be intimidating. “I’m gonna stick your ass to that entire compound, birdbrain.”

“Don’t worry, May,” Carol spoke up for the first time the entire meal, “I’ll keep him from getting into too much trouble.”

“Then who’s gonna keep you out of trouble, Danvers?” Rhodey spoke up from the other end of the table, laughter moving through all the party members at her shameless grin.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Parker. Spiderman is in good hands.” Fury said, speaking above a whisper for the first time that night. Cool tone cutting through the mirth of the room and sending the table of Avenger’s into an awkward silence, calculation and fiddling briefly keeping the room at bay before the previous director of SHIELD dropped his gaze back to his plate.

Pepper, bless her CEO soul, re-entered the dining room at just the right time and clapped her hands once before asking, “Who want’s ice cream?”

A chorus of _yes_ ’s, some more enthusiastic (Peter) than others followed; the sound of silverware clattering and general fumbling loud enough to clog out the awkwardness as the guests followed Pepper into the kitchen.

The party ended up in the living room, crammed onto furniture and a little sweaty with their bowls of ice cream, Morgan perched on one of the Hulk’s knees.

“What the hell is that?” Peter asked Harley, pointing to his bowl.

“It’s ice cream, dear. You know, they do have it in Tennessee, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I mean—where’s the chocolate syrup? The sprinkles? Pepper had a whole spread! Why does your bowl look so sad?”

“I do not like sprinkles,” Harley answered, stabbing his spoon into the vanilla ice cream.

Peter sputtered, “you don’t—? Sprinkles? What kind of monster doesn’t like sprinkles? Or syrup? Christ, there was cherries and nuts too and –”

“I know this might be a little hard for you to comprehend, but I do not want anything on my ice cream. I just want the ice cream. Not even a cone.”

“No cones?”

“Nope.”

“ _Never_?” Peter honestly looked confused.

“ _Ever_. Sprinkles get stuck in your teeth; syrup gets fucking everywhere; nuts are unnecessary, and I don’t want a cherry when I just want ice cream.”

Because of the lack of seating arrangements, Peter and Harley were squished together on a couch, Harley’s ribs pressed uncomfortably into the arm of the sofa. Their argument, as ridiculous as it was, had them moving even closer; half of Peter’s arm resting on Harley’s thigh, their faces close enough that Harley could see the faint smudge of chocolate syrup on the corner of Peter’s mouth.

Briefly, Harley realized that he was hosting an aggressive cult of butterflies in his stomach.

“I feel… please don’t take this the wrong way. But I feel bad for you,” Peter admitted, smiling. “There must genuinely be something wrong with you if you can’t find joy in sprinkles.”

“Parker, I don’t remember asking.”

“Harley, I’m just trying to comfort a friend who clearly has never brushed the concept of happiness.”

“We are not friends.” Harley hoped his face was straight, but he doubted it as soon as he saw Peter’s smile grow, brilliant and gorgeous in the light of the sunset.

Fuck everything, but Spiderman was _pretty_.

And his hand was _on Harley’s thigh_.

“Aww, c’mon,” Peter leaned in even closer, his chin resting on Harley’s shoulder. “You can’t help but love me, Harls.” He batted his eye lashes, close enough for Harley to kiss, before moving back, moving too fucking far away, to plop another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

Harley’s heart; a cold blooded, traitorous bastard, was trying to beat out of his chest. And, well, not to be a complete fucking cliché- but there weren’t any boys like Peter Parker in Tennessee. There wasn’t any superhero’s in tight suits that, once unmasked, would insult your dessert bowl and geek out at the drop of the hat. Harley kept wiping the palms of his hands on his slacks, switching them out from holding his ice cream in an attempt to cool them down, trying his hardest not to have sweaty hands like a protagonist in a YA novel.

Across the room, Scott (Antman?) was doing a dramatic retelling of the first time he fought the Falcon, his bowl of ice cream being lifted into the air precariously with every switch of the narrative. Peter laughed along next to him, still leaning against Harley’s side and passing comments that he didn’t hear, couldn’t process.

Harley knew he was gay, this wasn’t news. He wasn’t that repressed. But had he ever wanted to be gay with anyone? No. Absolutely not. Unless you want to count Anakin from _Revenge of The Sith_.

He shoved more ice cream in his mouth, hoping the cold would erase his memory, make his brain short circuit or – or something. But he didn’t want to deal with this now.

“Hey,” Peter tapped his thigh, breaking Harley out of his gay panic. Both their bowls were empty, and the conversation had broken off into little groups. “Don’t look now, but Nick Fury has been moving towards us for, like, the last ten minutes.”

Real panic fluttered in Harley’s chest now. Except for the weird comment he made at dinner, Fury hadn’t necessarily _done_ anything. But just the name ‘Nick Fury’ was enough to invoke fear in half the nation.

“Shit. Shit, man, what do we do?” Harley whispered back.

“I don’t know,” Peter sounded preciously put out. “May hopped seats to go cuddle with fucking Hogan and now we’re sitting ducks!”

Just this comment alone was enough to let Harley know Peter played too many video games. “Fuck, well, let’s go!”

“Go where!?”

Harley was too panicked to realize that Peter was even closer than he had been before.

“Away, man! C’mon,” He grabbed Peter’s free hand, dragging the smaller boy off the couch and into the kitchen, where the two practically threw their bowls into the sink before running out the back door.

Peter was laughing behind him, hand wrapped tightly around Harley’s as the two fled the scene, clumsily making their way down the stairs, into the backyard and— “Is that a fucking alpaca?” Harley asked as they passed a bored looking llama—goat thing in a coat.

“Huh?” Peter was slowing down, “oh, yeah, that’s Gerald. He was Tony’s, I guess.”

Silence hung between the two for a moment, before Harley snorted, “of fucking course it was.”

“I figured you’d be used to weird animals, being a farm boy and all.”

“Do I _look_ like a farmer to you, Parker? Really. Do you think I’d be so anal about this hair if I was used to getting up at the ass-crack of dawn—”

Like a bad movie, the two boys froze as they heard the screen door creak open behind them. Harley barely had time to release a soft ‘fuck’ before Peter was yanking him by the arm, practically dragging him a few yards before Spiderman sent both of them diving into a blue tent hidden in a nook of trees.

Harley rubbed his head, blinking away the disorientation till his eyes focused on Peter’s grin. “Ow,” he whined, shifting to find that he had landed on stack of nerf guns. Peter lifted up a screwdriver, the point dyed a mysterious shade of yellow and handle streaked with different colored markers. The tent, while large enough to (almost) comfortably fit two teenage boys, was littered with toys and oddities of all kinds. There were many barbie dolls and action figures. Some with heads and some with not. A few had swapped body parts and shields, one Hulk figure sporting a rosy-cheeked barbie head. Fairy lights hung above them, luring a few bugs in, the buzz of electricity the only sound as the two tried to understand what fucked up wonderland they’d landed themselves in.

“This place has gotta be Morgan’s,” Peter decided.

“I sure hope so,” Harley muttered, examining a barbie doll that was hung in the wires of the lights. She had the Captain America shield taped to her chest.

“Definitely Tony’s kid,” Peter laughed.

Harley agreed, trying to find a place to sit without being poked in the ass by an arm. “I can’t wait to meet her. I bet she’s frickin _weird_ , man,” he laughed. “Heard she was running everyone in circles while we were in the woods.”

“I’m terrified of her.” Peter confessed, fairy lights casting him in a shadow that made Harley’s breath hitch. And he looked so vulnerable, sitting with his arms wrapped arounds his legs, not meeting Harley’s eyes.

“Why would you be scared of a five-year-old?”

“Cause!” He replied in a frustrated burst of childishness. “Cause, man… I dunno. It’s _Tony’s_ kid, you know? That’s the heir to Tony Stark and I’m just Peter Parker—”

“You’re literally Spiderman.”

“That doesn’t matter! She’s not gonna meet Spiderman, she’s gonna meet me. And I just… I just can’t look at her without seeing Tony. I remember earlier, at the freaking lake, just standing there, not even watching the memorial float away, I was just staring at her. And she’s so _small_ and she’s already got the whole world resting on her shoulders and no child should cry or—or lose, and I’m just standing there, some nobody she’s never met or heard of, and. And it’s hard, sometimes, I guess. To be Peter when I know people like Spiderman more.”

Harley couldn’t imagine how someone with such loose lips managed to keep their identity a secret, but oh well. He was struck by how free with his emotions Peter was, how trusting he was to a near stranger. “You’re an only child, aren’t you? Never babysat or nothin?” Peter shook his head. “Right, well. I’m here to tell you this top-secret information. Are you ready?” he continued to look at his shoes, right foot tapping on the carpet quietly. “Kids don’t give a shit about who you are. They do not care about you.”

Peter blinked, “come again?”

“Seriously. Till they’re, like, seven, kids basically have the same thought process of a sociopath. Everything they do if for self-benefit, or ‘cause we make them. They don’t really care about you—unless, of course, you’re Spiderman or Thor or famous, or whatever. All they want, from regular ol’ Peter Parker’s and the rest of us, is for someone to listen to them. It’s that simple. I don’t give a shit about my sister’s Roblox or whatever the hell LOL dolls are or whoever is in Hamilton right now, but I listen. And I know all the words to “The Schuyler Sisters” cause my mom and her needed a Peggy and that is _enough_. Kids are taught that they’re uninteresting by default, so all you gotta do is care maybe 2% about whatever the hell they’re talking about, and they’ll love you.”

“You are simplifying things to make me feel better, and I appreciate you, but it’s _not working_.”

Harley took a deep breath, hoping that the tent was lit dimly enough that Peter couldn’t see the goofy, affectionate smile on Harley’s face. “Peter, my boy. Son,” he laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, cheering silently when the other boy scoffed and shrugged him off playfully. “In the great words of Tony Stark, I will bestow upon you the wisdom he shared with me at the ripe age of eleven.” Harley breathed in dramatically, cleared his throat: “don’t be a pussy.”

Peter laughed loudly, seemingly unaware of Harley’s sincerity. “He did not!”

“He did! So stop being a pussy, Parker!” But he kept cackling, head tilted back and long, elegant neck on display and _jesus christ_ , Harley Keener you are one gay bitch and it’s gonna ruin ever—

“That is not a nice word!” A tiny ball flew through the tent flaps, cutting Peter’s laughter off with a pained ‘oof’ as Morgan Stark landed on Spiderman’s lap, face twisted into disappointment. “We aren’t allowed to talk like that here!” She poked Peter in the cheek, “Only at the office and in the garage!”

“Hey! It wasn’t me; it was him!” Peter, that fucking traitor, didn’t even hesitate before pointing a finger at Harley.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re both trespassers!” Her words were slurred a bit, vowels adorably sloppy and rushed. “Didn’t you see the posted sign?”

“We’re hiding! We didn’t have time for morals!” Harley couldn’t believe he was actually panicked about upsetting a five-year-old.

“But this is _my_ hiding spot! And _you_ didn’t ask to share!”

“Who are you hiding from?” Peter asked.

Morgan blinked at him owlishly, before sighing dramatically and turning around in his lap. Shifting and adjusting Peter’s limbs before she was comfortably leaning her back against his stomach. “ _Everyone_ ,” she confessed in a long-suffering tone that screamed Tony Stark. “Everybody keeps hugging me and talking about how I’m gonna be the next Avenger. _I already know all of that_. They won’t give me a break, especially not Bugman or Legolas.”

“You… you mean Scott? Ant-Man?” Peter tried to clarify.

“Yeah, that guy. And then Clint, too. They’re very clingy, but Mommy says I have to be nice.”

“So you’re hiding from them?”

Morgan tucked her chin into her shoulder, trying to smother a telling grin.

Harley laughed, “don’t worry squirt, we’ll keep your secret. So long as you don’t press charges.”

She cheered, showing no caution as she used Peter’s lap as a launch pad, another pained grunt escaping the boy as Morgan leaped at Harley this time, arms going around his neck in a choke hold.

“We can play dolls!” She yelled into his ear, pulling back with a ginormous smile.

“Oh, I dunno, Morgan –”

“Yes!”

“Yes!” Peter echoed. And that was that.

Morgan then proceeded to lead the three of them into an epic plot, in which Harley’s doll was kidnapped twice. He was currently trying to weasel his way out of his third hostage situation, but Peter was very dedicated to playing a double agent and _apparently_ has been helping Morgan—reprising her starring role of The Squid Doctor, the entire time.

Harley never really was one for television, but he’s pretty sure this outranks most things on Primetime, especially with Morgan’s sound effects and Peter’s character acting. Even he is surprised when Peter leads him into the final trap, which is a guillotine suspended over a shark tank.

“It’s times like these, Selina Kyle, that you should be cautious of those you place your trust in.”

“Please, Doctor, just return my cats to me! I’ve brought you Talia like you asked, now give all 22 of my pussies back!”

“You’re not the Riddler!” Talia (Harley) shouted, “Stop rhyming!”

“Silence!” In a truly horrifying display, Morgan ripped Harley’s doll out of his hands and ripped her head off by the hair. “Your cats were the appetizer, Miss Kyle,” she threw the dismembered head into the shark tank (a bowl filled with goldfish and dead ants, respectively) and pointed the body of Harley’s doll at Peter’s face, “and you are to be dessert!”

Harley yelled, “Morgan, why!?” at the same time Peter began play sobbing, “please, god, have mercy!”

&

The reception didn’t really end till after midnight, the last few stragglers stalling their departure on the front porch. Pepper had dragged the three of them out of the tent after around two hours of elaborate plot twists and double castings. Now Harley, Peter and Morgan were strewn across the couch, Morgan lounging across the both of them like a princess as they waited for Pepper to kick Clint and Thor off her property.

Harley kept dozing off, only to be shoved back into reality every time Morgan kicked him out of excitement…or boredom… or whenever Peter told her to. The two had formed a sort of kinship after taking turns torturing Harley’s doll, now they were both gremlins that delighted in his short temper and obvious annoyance. And if he was playing up his reactions, so what? A giggling Peter Parker was worth the bruise blooming on his stomach.

“FRIDAY,” Morgan addressed the air. “What are they talking about?”

“Thor and Clint are currently telling a story to no one, your mother and Laura are talking about composting.”

Morgan groaned, smooshing her face into a pillow. “Adults are so boring!” She kicked Harley in the stomach again, pout growing when he barely flinched. She pulled the limb higher, swinging it down with full intent of killing the teen until he caught he caught her foot in midair.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” He tickled the bottom of her foot, the girl screaming, flailing against Peter and him till Harley let her go.

“I have no bedtime!”

“Morgan’s bedtime is 8:30pm on weekdays.”

“FRIDAY!” Morgan exclaimed, “Where is the loyalty!?” Harley is completely sure she picked that up from Tony.

“Well, get going. Peter and I have a date with the LEGO’s hidden in the foyer, so—”

“Pull up _Atlantis_!” Morgan interrupted him, slapping him on the cheek to silence him.

“’The Lost Empire’ _Atlantis_?” Peter asked skeptically. When Morgan nodded, Peter whooped, toeing his shoes off before stretching out on the couch, arm around Morgan. “Alright, movie night, let’s go!”

Morgan cheered, taking up probably half the couch (impossible, she’s the size of a thimble), the TV in front of them lighting up to show the title card for an animated movie that reeked of old Disney. Harley was more of a Cartoon Network kid.

“What is this?”

“A cinematic masterpiece,” Peter assured him.

“You said that about _Oh, Hello_!”

“Well, I mean it this time!”

“You have bad taste!”

“You’ve never watched _Brooklyn 99_ so nothing you say has merit!”

“I can’t take it anymore!” Morgan shouted between then, a hand over each ear.

“Terry Crews has no merit!”

Peter gasped like he’d been punched in the gut, “you take that back!”

“FRIDAY, please play the movie!” She begged.

“Certainly,” the cool voice of the AI silenced the bickering though Harley and Peter were still facing each other, Morgan trapped between the two boys that were definitely not flirting. “Shall I start it from the beginning? Or where you left off?”

“Harley’s never seen it,” Peter reminded Morgan—who shrugged unsympathetically. “We have to culture him, Morgan.”

“But… but they’re about to meet Kida for the first time!”

“Harley ruins everything. We have to start from the beginning.”

The glare Morgan sent over her shoulder was paralyzing, but she sagged against the couch in defeat, looking entirely too put out about a movie Harley’s sure she’s seen dozens of times.

“Start her up, FRIDAY. Prepare to have your life changed, Keener.”

“My expectations have never been lower.”

“No talking!” Morgan screamed over the music of the title card. The kid consistently proved to have a decent set of lungs on her, no matter how soft-spoken she could be.

Harley flicked Peter on the back of the head, laughing when the boy flinched. “Spidey-senses my ass.”

The movie began with the three shouting about swear words and 2D animation.

Pepper, freshly covered in mosquito bites, walked in on them an hour later, the last of her guests finally gone. The movie still had a decent amount of plot left, but all three of the kids were conked out, Harley’s head lolling backwards at an unfortunate angle. Somehow, Peter’s head had ended up on Harley’s thigh, his face still facing the TV with a cheek smooshed against the other boys slacks. Morgan was nestled between Peter’s legs, her stomach pressed against his as she slept.

“FRIDAY, cut the movie and dim the lights please.”

The AI followed order seamlessly, informing Pepper of the three children’s brain waves to the sound of doors locking and shades closing, the women dropping stray cups into the sink and blowing out candles.

“What’s the time, FRI?”

“It’s 1:17am.”

Pepper cursed, Morgan was still in the habit of waking up before the sun. Peter and Harley were in for a rude awakening.

She had FRIDAY take a picture of the trio on the couch (but only because Tony would have) as she ascended the stairs, heels in her hand. She’d let them sleep there, cramped and uncomfortable as it was. With Harley going off to college and Peter being a superhero, she had a feeling it’d be tough getting the two back up here again.

They needed all the family bonding time they could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments!!! If I ever work up enough dumbbitch courage to reply to them I will shower you all with affection !!!! ah!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO I made Harley jewish because I'm a slut for self-projection and the Jews in Tennessee need all the help they can get 'cause ministry out there is wild
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING I LOVE YOU ALL this could be continued if people want it lmao


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